


The Bluff

by DoubleBit



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Gore, Drug Use, First Time, Gunshot Wounds, Homophobic Language, Hunting, Implied Bolton ickiness, M/M, Marking, Reference to past rape and rape threats, Statutory Rape, Strangulation, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex, misogynistic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-04-26 23:50:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5025475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleBit/pseuds/DoubleBit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time they meet, Ramsay's invitation seems harmless enough.</p><p>OR</p><p>Modern AU in which Roose Bolton is the president of a country club, Ramsay is his embarrassing redneck son, and Theon should've just stayed at home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quarkitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarkitty/gifts).



> Heartfelt apologies to [Quarkity](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarkity/pseuds/Quarkity) for my failure to complete this in a timely manner. I know this probably isn't what you had in mind, but if it wasn't for you, this wouldn't exist, and I promise there will be a bit more of what you asked for in Part 2.
> 
> Thanks also to the people whose comments I have yet to reply to on other works that might also read this one. I promise I have not forgotten you!
> 
> And much love also to all the redneck boys and girls I love, and to whom I intend no disrespect.

The night they first met, Theon made a show of _not_ noticing Ramsay Bolton. Instead, he trailed Ned and Robb Stark around the main room of the lodge, nursing a pitifully small glass of red wine and resisting the urge to glance too often at the group of boy seated near the gaping stone fireplace. The boys spoke loudly, and their frequent rounds of laughter overwhelmed the otherwise subdued tone of the Wolfswood Country Club’s 74th Annual Fundraiser, which Robb had tricked Theon into attending for the third time in as many years.

“I forgot that it was tonight,” Robb would say unapologetically. “You should come with, so we can still hang out.”

Theon snorted. “You mean so I can sit alone in a corner getting drunk until your dad drives me home and lectures me about consuming alcohol responsibly?”

(“I’m not your father,” Ned had reminded him. “And I’m not going to punish you, but if you ever get this drunk around Robb again, you won’t be welcome in our house. Do you understand?”

“Yessir,” Theon had slurred.)

“Dad just wants me to be social for a few minutes, and then we can go play ping-pong or whatever.” Robb fixed Theon with an irresistibly plaintive look, and Theon damned himself aloud.

“Fine. Fuck. I’ll go.”

And just like last year, Theon looked out of place, underdressed in his black jeans, Chucks and a faded t-shirt. He didn’t consider himself an awkward person, but the odd, gray eyes following him around the lodge caused an inexplicable – and embarrassing – flush in his cheeks, and he found himself frantic to look absolutely anywhere else.

_How did this guy even get **in?**_ he wondered, remembering the way the attendant had side-eyed him as he held the door for Ned Stark, Son and Guest. If Theon stood out amongst all the khakis and polo shirts and pendletons, the boy with the gray eyes looked like he and his friends had got lost on their way to a John Deer expo.

He was handsome, Theon supposed, if you completely ignored the outfit – camouflage pants and a red flannel, a confederate flag embroidered on a weather-worn baseball cap. But he had fine black hair and the scruffy beginnings of a beard, and he watched Theon from beneath the brim of his hat with a strange smile on his lips; around him, the three other boys carried on, laughing and gesticulating, while he sat quietly with one foot up on the opposite knee, one hand clutching a damp can of Bud Light, somehow at the center of everything and yet also completely separate. 

Theon looked away. 

“Man, who let the Dukes of Hazzard in?” Robb sidled up beside him and elbowed Theon in the ribs.

“Probably the same asshole who let _me_ in. Can we go soon? I saw they refurbished the pool table since last time.”

“I’m never playing pool with you again,” Robb said with a smile. “You cheat.”

Theon shrugged. “You’re bad enough that cheating is the only thing that makes it interesting. We could play air hockey, if you want my night to be as humiliating as possible.” He followed Robb’s gaze as it shifted to the other side of the room, where Ned Stark stood, conversing with another man beneath an artfully-mounted moose head.

“That Roose Bolton?” Theon asked, though he knew the answer. The inscrutable president of Wolfswood had cornered him the previous year while he sat at the bar, barely allowing Theon time to introduce himself before launching into a series of unsettling personal questions that seemed more designed to make Theon uncomfortable than to actually gather any new information – how was his mother’s health? His father’s temper? How long had he and Robb been friends, and did Ned Stark seem to approve of their friendship? What were Theon’s plans after graduation?

Unsure how to respond, Theon mumbled something about maybe joining the Navy, like his brother Rick.

“The Greyjoys have never been known for their creativity,” said Roose, whose soft voice seemed at odds with his harsh words. He gave a humorless smile. “I ought to introduce you to my son.”

“I –I’m sorry, I was under the impression that your son –”

“My bastard,” Roose cut in. “Ramsay is only a few years older than you, and though he’s a disappointment, he _is_ quite creative, in his own way.” Bolton’s eerie eyes scanned the crowd. “I’m afraid he finds these sorts of events uninteresting. Perhaps he’ll come next year.”

“Yeah, hopefully,” Theon had said, silently thanking god when Roose abruptly excused himself to greet another club member.

“My dad wants me to spend some time getting to know him,” said Robb.

Theon rolled his eyes. “And by ‘some time,’ you mean ‘for-fucking-ever,’ right?” He took a sip of wine and swished it around in his mouth. “Have I mentioned that you fucking owe me?”

Robb looked hurt. “I guess I didn’t know you hated it so much.”

_I don’t **hate** it,_ Theon was about to admit, before he locked eyes with the boy sitting by the fire and a strange shiver ran through him. “I guess I didn’t know you _cared_ how I felt,” he snapped before he could think, then downed the rest of the glass. “Go on. I’m sure you’ll have a much better time discussing security contracts or whatever with Roose Bolton than you would’ve had beating me at air hockey for the millionth time.”

“Theon –”

“I’m going to go have a smoke or five.” He brushed past Robb, feeling guilty even as he deliberately clipped his friend’s shoulder on his way to the door. 

On the patio, a cool autumn breeze greeted him, and Theon wished he’d thought to bring a jacket – goosebumps rippled over his arms as he fiddled with his zippo, pursing a cigarette between his lips and squinting out at the woods just beyond the circle of illumination cast by a single lamp-post. The stars had begun to appear, pinpricks of cold light above the dark silhouettes of the trees. After a minute or so, he heard the door to the lodge open behind him. 

He half-hoped Robb had come after him, so he could tell him off a second time – or maybe just apologize for being a dick and salvage what was left of this wasted evening. But the footfalls were too heavy and slow to belong to his friend.

“Can I bum a smoke?”

Before he even turned around, Theon felt his heart racing, though he couldn’t say _why._ Robb always teased him about having saltwater in his veins – how else was he always so cool around girls? – but suddenly the hair on the back of Theon’s neck stood up, and his voice sounded strangled when he replied with a shrug, “Sure.”

The boy was shorter than Theon, and more attractive up close – but somehow the sight of him made Theon take a step back, and he felt the wood of the railing pressed against the small of his back as he offered out his pack of cigarettes.

The boy tapped one out of the carton and lit it with his own plastic lighter. He moved beside Theon to lean his elbows against the railing, letting out a stream of smoke into the night air, and Theon noticed that he smelled faintly of gasoline and cedar.

_Say something,_ Theon thought, but his mouth had gone bone-dry.

“You don’t belong in there,” said the boy.

Theon cleared his throat. “Excuse me?”

“I said: you don’t belong in there.” Something glinted in the light, and Theon realized the boy was offering him a pull from a silver flask. He opened it and took a whiff, almost shuddering at the sweet smell of whiskey.

“And where _do_ I belong?” he asked, arching an eyebrow as he took a too-long draught.

Theon expected the boy to shy away, the way boys always seemed to do when extended such an open invitation, but _this_ boy only took another drag and gave Theon a critical look. “Not in _there,_ followin' Robb Stark around like a lost puppy,” he said, lifting the flask from Theon’s outstretched hand and downing a modest sip.

Theon felt his cheeks go red, and opened his mouth to let out an ill-formed retort.

“Well, it beats spending the night at home,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

“Cheers to _that._ ” The boy raised his flask slightly before taking a deeper drink. “Ramsay,” he said, extending a handshake. “Bolton.”

“Oh.” Theon tried not to grimace at the strength of Ramsay’s grip, a few shades more forceful than necessary, he thought. “Theon Greyjoy. So Roose Bolton’s your dad?”

“Yeah.” Ramsay shrugged indifferently and flicked the ash from his cigarette over the railing, but Theon caught the way his eyes turned towards the lodge to where his father stood talking with Robb and Ned Stark, and he sensed a brief pulse of anxiety that made him feel anxious in turn.

“So Wolfswood is, like, your place, huh?” he asked, rubbing his arms against the chill.

“It’s my father’s place,” Ramsay corrected, too quickly, and Theon knew he’d made a misstep.

“Is this your – do you come to the club a lot?” he tried again, unaccountably desperate to make this stranger _like_ him.

Ramsay snorted, tossing the butt of his cigarette out into the yard. “Nah. I fuckin’ hate these things, but my father wanted me here. He used to not care if I came, but ever since my brother died – got sick and died, ya know – ever since then, he’s been invitin' me to show up to his goddamn annual event. So I says, ‘Fine. I’ll go.’ He wanted me to wear a nice outfit and everything, and I’m sure I’ll catch hell about it later.” Ramsay shrugged again.

Theon thought it was strange that Ramsay referred to Roose as “my father,” though no stranger than when Roose had referred to Ramsay as “my bastard” – he supposed he also wouldn’t be in any hurry to call Roose Bolton “dad.”

“Yeah, Robb keeps bringing me here every year to keep him company. He’ll invite me over and then when I show up, he’s like, ‘Oh, I forgot, the Wolfswood thing is tonight.’ And then he begs me to come, even though he knows I don’t want to, and then I just spend the whole night drinking wine by myself.”

“They serve you wine here?”

“I mean, no one would enjoy this if they didn’t serve wine.” 

Ramsay gave Theon a piercing stare and adjusted the brim of his ballcap. “Seems like Robb Stark just don’t know what to _do_ with you.”

Theon swallowed. “What would _you_ do with me?”

“Nothin' I’d talk about in public.” A predatory grin crept across Ramsay’s lips. He cocked his head towards the lodge, where the group of boys encircled the fireplace. “Me and the guys are gonna get outta here and go four-wheelin'. Come with us.”

Theon glanced at Robb, still chatting with Roose Bolton with that million-dollar smile on his face, somehow impervious – or oblivious – to Roose’s unrelenting eye-contact and bizarre, whispering voice. He felt a pang of resentment toward his friend – so effortlessly the center of attention. Yet here was this boy – rough around the edges, maybe, but _older_ and kind of handsome – asking – no, _telling_ – Theon to ditch this lame fundraising event, which he hadn’t even wanted to attend; and even if Robb felt a little abandoned – or maybe even a little _jealous_ – who was Theon to say no? The prospect thrilled him.

“Yeah,” he said, trying not to sound too excited. “Okay. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Ramsay smiled, a little wider than Theon expected, flashing a set of perfectly straight – if slightly yellow – teeth. He’d hoped that they’d slip away unnoticed, leaving Robb to wonder over his absence, but Ramsay banged loudly against the glass door of the lodge, drawing the attention of everyone within as he motioned for his friends to hurry up and finish their beers. Theon pretended not to notice the way Ned Stark’s face darkened at the sight of him, or Robb’s wide-eyed confusion, and in doing so, he also saw the expression of bored disdain that drew Roose Bolton’s thin mouth into the trace of a frown.

*

The roar of the machines was deafening, and Theon’s heart pounded as they raced along an overgrown logging road. Overhead, the crescent moon had appeared amongst a handful of stars and planets. Miles passed, and the woods seemed to close in around them, edging ever-closer to the faint tread before them, branches whipping and clawing at the boys as they flew through the forest.

Theon felt drunk, and he supposed he might be, but more than the alcohol, it was the feel of the night air, of his arms wrapped around Ramsay’s waist, and the warmth of the red flannel Ramsay had given him to wear.

“You’ll get cold,” he’d said, and then, “Hold on to me,” and if any of the other boys found it strange, they never said.

There were three of them, all about Ramsay’s age, though all plainer. He’d already forgotten which was Alyn and which was Luton, but Skinner was tall, with a big scar on the side of his face and a tattoo on his neck. He and Ramsay each carried a long, hard case strapped to the back of their ATVs. Rifles, Theon guessed, or shotguns. He remembered the time that his brother Maron had dared him to fire their father’s 12-gauge; Theon was only six or seven, and the recoil had knocked him on his ass and nearly dislocated his shoulder. He wondered if Ramsay’s brother had been anything like Maron.

Theon expected them to turn onto some county road, to end up at a house or a cabin, but the darkness in front of them continued to deepen, until the only sign of civilization was the road beneath their tires.

“Where are we going?” he asked, shouting over the din of the engine, his lips against Ramsay’s ear, his hand venturing lower over Ramsay’s stomach.

Ramsay ignored him and hit the accelerator. Theon tightened his grip.

They stopped finally at a bluff overlooking a narrow valley. The engines cut one by one, and in the silence, Theon could hear the rush of a small river, and he could smell fall in the brisk air. He thought he saw an old farmhouse below, though it might’ve been only a trick of the moonlight. A truck was parked there already – a high-mounted Dodge 2500, with a rack of lights on top and boy in a cowboy hat leaned against the rear fender sipping a beer, while in the bed of the truck five huge dogs paced, tails wagging, panting anxiously. 

“Took you long enough,” the boy said, checking his watch before turning his gaze to Theon. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Theon.” He held out his hand, but the boy only gaped at him.

“Ramsay –” he sighed.

“You like dogs?” Ramsay asked Theon, beckoning him towards the tailgate of the truck. “These are my girls.”

Theon reached out tentatively, allowing the dogs to sniff his palm. The biggest, a blue-eyed German shepherd, began to lick up the length of his arm and Theon smiled. He turned to ask Ramsay what her name was, but Ramsay and the boy in the cowboy hat had stepped away to argue about something which Theon could safely assume was _him._

“No fuckin' _way_ he’s eighteen,” the boy said, pointing at Theon the way a parent points at a thing a child has just broken.

Ramsay spit his dip, practically on the other boy’s leather boots. “Really, Dance? Of all the things you suddenly decide to get moral about?”

The boy called Dance was pretty, Theon thought – almost effeminate with his long blond hair and round face – and he spoke to Ramsay with a familiarity that made the other boys exchange looks. “It’s just – I’m just lookin' out for you.”

“And I appreciate that,” replied Ramsay, laying an arm across Dance’s shoulder. “But you know I can look out for myself, right?”

“I know, but I –”

Ramsay pulled Dance even closer. “And you _know_ how I hate havin' these conversations more than once.”

Theon’s stomach clenched. Maybe he shouldn’t have come. He had hoped to spend some more time alone with Ramsay, but now it seemed like he’d become part of something he wasn’t welcome to at all.

“Damon’s just jealous,” Skinner explained with a smirk. He opened the case on the back of his ATV to begin assembling the compound bow inside. “Don’t take it personal.”

“Jealous?” Theon echoed incredulously. 

Somewhere in the middle distance, a pack of coyotes set to laughing, and Theon pulled Ramsay’s flannel tighter around his body. “Where – where are we?”

Skinner’s fingers moved deftly over the bow, despite the cold. “Somewhere on Roose Bolton’s property.”

“Are we still at Wolfswood?”

He looked at Theon with something like amusement and snorted. “No.”

A sudden chime announced a text from Robb. “Plz call me.”

Theon’s thumb hovered over Robb’s name on the screen. He wanted to leave, but he didn’t even know where he _was,_ and anyway, Ramsay had finished his conversation with Damon, and Theon didn’t want to look like a _child…_

“You gotta ignore Dance,” Ramsay said, loud enough that the boy let out a just-audible curse. Ramsay’s pale eyes flickered to the phone in Theon’s palm. He licked his lips. “That your friend Robb again?”

_No,_ Theon wanted to say, but he knew that Ramsay would know he was lying, so he only said, “Um, yeah.”

“Needy, ain’t he?”

“He can be,” agreed Theon, though truthfully Robb never acted like he _needed_ Theon at all, and perhaps that’s why Theon had treated him so spitefully that evening. 

As though he’d been reading Theon’s thoughts, Ramsay’s eyes narrowed as he took a step closer. “What am I gonna have to do to make you forget about him for ten seconds?”

“I – uh,” was all Theon managed before Ramsay kissed him, shoving him against the side of Damon’s truck hard enough to make Theon swear: “Ow! Jesus fuck –” until he was cut off by Ramsay’s tongue in his mouth. Ramsay tasted sickly-sweet – like beer and chewing tobacco – and suddenly Theon forgot about Robb and Damon and everything.

_He’s kissing you,_ he thought. _He’s kissing you in **front** of everyone._

Theon had been kissed by plenty of boys, but none had ever done it in front of everyone. They were always a little _scared,_ he could tell – scared of him telling, of someone knowing. Ramsay kissed like he wasn’t scared of anything.

His hands fumbled for the front of Ramsay’s shirt, but Ramsay grabbed his wrists and pinned them against the cold metal of the truck. Ramsay’s palms were hot and sweating. “Not now,” he said. “Not yet.” He bit down into Theon’s bottom lip, and Theon winced. When he opened his eyes again, Ramsay smiled at him with a little dark smudge at the corner of his lips that Theon realized must be his own blood. Extricating one hand from Ramsay’s grip, Theon swiped at the blood with his thumb, then put it in his own mouth with a wet sucking sound. He saw something stir in Ramsay’s eyes, tasted copper – he’d never felt so wanted.

“Ramsay.” Skinner cleared his throat.

Ramsay’s gaze lingered on Theon’s mouth a few seconds more, and then he turned his attention away to look over the bluff and into the darkness. He wiped his palms on his pants before taking the rifle that Skinner had assembled for him – almost four feet long with the silencer attached.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Almost nine.” Skinner plucked at his bowstring. “The drugs oughtta have worn off.”

Theon wondered if he had misheard for a moment. He felt a little dizzy, maybe, but if Ramsay had drugged him, they’d _both_ been drinking from the same flask. And Skinner didn’t seem high at all – he barely seemed buzzed, for how much beer he’d downed at the lodge.

“What are you –” he began to ask, but Ramsay grabbed him by the jaw, just tight enough to hurt.

“Hush. You need to shut up now, okay?”

In the bed of the pick-up, one of the dogs whined. Theon tried to nod, but Ramsay still held him firmly, looking for some different type of confirmation. 

“Dance, gimme your night specs.”

Damon obeyed, handing him a pair of heavy black binoculars, which Ramsay pressed into Theon’s chest. “I got a job for you. I need you to use these and keep an eye out down there.” He cocked his head towards the edge of the bluff. “Can you do that for me?”

_Can we just go back to the lodge?_ Theon wanted to ask, but he knew what the answer would be, so again, he tried to nod. It was only a pair of binoculars – why was he so frightened?

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Good.” Ramsay smiled at him. “I’m glad I brought you.” He took Theon’s hand in his, guided Theon’s fingers first to a switch on the side of the eyepiece, then to a knob on top. “This is ‘on,’” he explained. “And this is the focus. Don’t break 'em, or Dance will fuck you bloody.”

The weight of them surprised Theon. He brought them to his face and began to survey the tree-line, scanning for any sign of a building or road, but there was nothing, save a cell tower a couple ridges over.

“What am I looking for?” he asked.

“The house,” Ramsay told him. “Just watch the house and say something if you see anyone down there.”

The vision through the binoculars was a grainy spectrum of greens and blacks – like something from a video-game – and it took Theon several seconds to make sense of it, zooming in and out of focus until he found the farmhouse – a dismal, dilapidated building, two stories tall, with half the paint flaking off, all the windows broken or missing, one side of the roof sagging inward. Just looking at it made Theon feel uneasy, especially as he began to grasp his situation: he didn’t know where he was, just somewhere in the woods, surrounded by a group of drunk, armed strangers, and what he’d _thought_ was an invitation to go four-wheeling was clearly morphing into some _other_ event that nobody seemed too eager to clue him in on. He tried to guess how far they’d driven in from the main road, and whether he could find his way back in the dark. Or whether he’d be allowed to leave at all.

All the boys stood, staring down into the darkness. Theon could feel Ramsay beside him, and he felt the heat radiating off of Ramsay’s body, warm like standing in the sunshine.

“See any movement?” Luton asked anxiously.

Theon didn’t see anyone, at first. But he did see that the lock on the front door was newer than anything else on the building, and the boards that covered the first-floor windows weren’t rotten planks like the few that remained in the second-story panes. Fresh tracks in the muddy driveway seemed too recent to be coincidental.

Theon shook his head. “Just a creepy fucking house is all I see.”

“With the amount you gave her, I’ll be surprised if she wakes up this _week,_ ” said Skinner.

“Fuck you.” Alyn spat in the dirt. “Bitch _bit_ me, so fuckin' hard I probably should'a gone to the hospital.”

“I bet you _liked_ that, didn’t you?”

“Will you two shut the fuck up?” Ramsay laid a hand on Theon’s shoulder. “You’re doin' good, just keep watchin'.”

Theon took a deep breath. His hands trembled so badly that he could hardly keep the binoculars up. He prayed that the house would stay still, that nothing would happen, that they’d all get bored or impatient and decide to go somewhere else.

“You think maybe she woke up _early,_ and already got a head start?”

Ramsay scoffed. “No way in hell. Bitch'd gotta be super-human.”

Theon’s breath caught in his throat – on the upper-floor, something moved. For a moment, he thought he’d imagined it, and then it happened again – a second board disappeared from the window, and a moment later _she_ slipped out to land softly on the roof. He couldn’t make out much about her, except that she was young, wearing running shorts and a white t-shirt. Her movements were at once quick and clumsy, and her knees buckled as she crawled towards the rain gutters. From time to time, she seemed to become disoriented and would stop moving altogether for several seconds, but Theon could see from the way she trembled that she was as terrified as she was intoxicated.

“What is it?”

_Nothing,_ Theon wanted to say. _Maybe a raccoon._ “I – I can’t tell. Something on the roof.”

“Let me have first shot this time,” Skinner said, “before y’all scare her even more and she takes off runnin'.” He nocked an arrow.

“No fuckin’ way you can make that,” someone said. “Fifty bucks says no fuckin’ way.”

“You’re on.”

Ramsay grinned and raised his rifle to his shoulder. “Skinner’s more of a sportsman than the rest of us.” He settled his gaze in the scope. “Dance, hit the lights.”

The bank of lights mounted on the Dodge flared to life, and washed the valley below in a harsh, colorless illumination. The stars disappeared, and the trees stood naked and ugly. The farmhouse glared, grotesque. On the roof, the girl froze, while Skinner’s arrow sank harmlessly into the grass, and Alyn hooted derisively. The girl raised a hand to block out the worst of the light, then got to her feet and began waiving her arms.

“She thinks we’re the fuckin’ _cops,_ ” observed Skinner with a laugh.

Theon tried to swallow, but he felt like he was choking on something hard. The binoculars shook violently in his hands. The girl started shouting, and though her words were unintelligible at this distance, he could tell that her voice was hoarse, as though she’d already screamed her throat raw.

_Please, god, let this be a joke. Let this not be real – this isn’t real._

A second later, the girl was howling, and even without the binoculars, Theon could see the blood coating her shin and her hands as she clutched her leg where Ramsay’s bullet had ripped through her flesh. Theon slumped against the side of the truck and vomited, while in the back, the dogs barked. The wine burned on its way up, and his eyes watered, and he heard Skinner laughing, Dance muttering scornfully, “Jesus fuckin' Christ.”

“She’s on the move,” Ramsay announced. “It’ll hurt like a bitch when she jumps off the roof, but she’ll be a ways into the woods by the time we get down there.” He slung his rifle over his shoulder and cocked his head to one side to consider Theon. “Come on. We ain't got time for this right now.”

Theon looked up at him, bleary-eyed, still retching, shaking his head as if he could refuse. “Take – take me home? I just want to go home. _Please?_ ”

Ramsay smiled. “‘Fraid not.” He bent down to grab Theon beneath his arms and lifted him, stronger than Theon would’ve guessed. “I know this ain’t exactly what you had in mind, but if you're good for me tonight, I promise to take you home in the mornin'. Do you promise to be good for me?”

“F-fuck you. Don’t fucking _touch_ me.” Theon tried to twist away, but Ramsay held him fast, right up until the moment his elbow collided with Theon’s face. Theon felt a burst of pain in his eye socket, and then nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, for [Quarkity](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarkity/pseuds/Quarkity/works). Apologies for the general lack of gore. (IMHO.)
> 
> Chapter One has been retconned for accents.

Ramsay had just texted Skinner when he heard his father’s light knock on the bedroom door.

“Fuck.”

He hurried to extinguish the spliff he’d been smoking, hating the way his fingers shook as he tucked what remained of it into an empty dip-can and slid it into his back pocket.

Again, a gentle rapping outside.

“Just _give_ me a minute, alright?”

It was a game they’d been playing, ever since Ramsay was nine – a game in which Roose pretended that he didn’t care about the things that Ramsay did, and Ramsay pretended that he didn’t care _what_ his father thought. Alyn’s dad _beat_ him about once a month, so it made sense for _Alyn_ to be afraid, but Roose had never laid a finger on Ramsay – not even the time that he discovered one of the neighbor boys tied to a pipe in the basement with a sock shoved into his mouth, bleeding from one ear where Ramsay had nicked him with the scissors as he tried to cut the boy’s hair.

Roose Bolton had a way of making things like that go away, and the boy’s family never called the police; they only seemed relieved when Roose returned their son to them, and Ramsay grumbled out the apology that his father had made him memorize. Even then, he understood that it wasn’t paternal love or protectiveness that compelled Roose to cover his son’s misdeeds, and as he grew older, Ramsay learned to hear the threat couched in his father’s soft voice – _I can send you back to where you came from._

The knocking came again, firmer this time, and Ramsay took a deep breath before opening the door.

“ _What?_ ” He pushed his dark hair out of his eyes.

“I thought we had an understanding about locked doors in this house.” Roose’s long, slender fingers toyed idly with the door-knob, and he fixed his son with a stare that was at once questioning and utterly disinterested.

Ramsay felt the blood rushing to his cheeks. _I’m a fuckin’ **adult,**_ he wanted to say. _And you got the fuckin’ **keys,** so what the fuck do you **care?**_

Instead he only replied, “I _forgot,_ okay?”

“No doubt a side-effect of whatever it is you’ve been smoking in here,” Roose observed, not allowing Ramsay a defense before continuing, “You’ll be attending the Wolfswood fundraiser this evening.”

Ramsay dropped into a lean against the doorframe and folded his arms across his chest. “What for?”

Roose cringed at the colloquialism. “Because you are my son, and it’s time you made an appearance.”

“Son?” Ramsay echoed derisively. “Since when?”

“Since the day I raped your mother.” Roose eyed Ramsay’s stained white tank-top. “I trust you’ll wear something more appropriate. Be there by five.”

Ramsay’s face burned, and he squirmed under his father’s icy gaze. “Yes sir,” he said.

And he _had_ picked out his nicest red flannel to throw over that ratty old beater, and changed into a pair of pants with no holes in them, and even ran a comb through his hair before putting on his trucker’s hat. If his father had intended something else, he should’ve been more specific.

“It amazes me that you continue to fall short of even my lowest expectations,” Roose commented with a sigh when Ramsay arrived at the lodge around six with Alyn and Luton in tow, gaping at the furnishings like they’d never been indoors before, and Skinner following behind them with a case of Bud Light balanced on one shoulder.

“I thought we’s going huntin’ tonight,” said Alyn as he flopped down into one of the leather chairs beside the fireplace.

“My father wants me here for a little while.” Ramsay shrugged as though the fact didn’t excite him. “We’ll just hang out – do some face time for like, an hour and then we’ll go.”

That hour passed slowly enough, and Ramsay’s excitement faded as the lodge filled with guests. He found himself wishing that he _had_ worn something nicer, and maybe not invited his boys along. Every time Luton started up with that bellowing _laugh_ of his, Ramsay could _feel_ them all staring – everyone except Roose, who hadn’t glanced at him once. So he sank back in his chair, downed a few beers and broadcast a look of bored insolence to anyone who caught his eye; he was checking his watch and just about to tell the guys to finish their drinks when Ned Stark arrived.

Ramsay recognized Stark from the newspaper, which frequently ran stories about his company’s philanthropic endeavors. He even knew Robb Stark from the full-page color photo of the Wintertown High Wolves celebrating his winning goal at last year’s Class A State Soccer Championship; he looked repulsive and perfect in his gray letterman’s jacket with a sky-blue sweater underneath. Ramsay was about to turn away when he noticed the _other_ boy – a bit older than Robb, but plainly more nervous – and suddenly everyone else in the room seemed to disappear.

In a black t-shirt and sneakers, the boy made Ramsay appear downright _presentable_ by comparison, and judging by the bee-line he made for the wine-bar, he felt about as out of place as he looked. Halfway through his first glass, his gaze lifted to meet Ramsay’s, then flickered quickly away. Ramsay was used to this, but less used to the feeling that twisted in his stomach when the boy resumed looking at him a few seconds later, only to be caught again and turn a bright shade of pink. That had never happened before.

He was pretty – in a faggy sort of way, Ramsay supposed – with long black hair and a lean build, but more than that, Ramsay liked the way the boy swallowed when their eyes met, the way he tried so desperately to act like he _wasn’t_ staring, like he _wasn’t_ hoping to find Ramsay staring back.

Dimly, he heard Luton’s thundering laugh.

When the boy stormed out of the lodge, Ramsay rose to follow, but not before Skinner clapped him on the arm. “That’s jailbait, Rams,” he said good-naturedly.

Ramsay grinned. “It’s _mine,_ ‘s what it is.”

*

Normally, Ramsay found the night air soothing; the growl of engines and dogs barking eased his mind. But tonight, trailing behind Damon’s truck at an agonizing twenty miles per hour, all he could hear was the sound of Theon Greyjoy’s unconscious body, banging around in the bed of the Dodge as it crept along the rutted-out ghost of an old logging road.

 _Impulsive,_ his father declared. _That’s why things never turn out the way you want them to._

Ramsay cursed under his breath. Roose was right, as always. He should’ve been patient, just given Theon his number so they could meet up afterwards somewhere, without all the boys around. But then Theon might’ve had time to really _think_ about it, maybe time to find out what everybody always said about Ramsay Bolton – _Trailer-trash. Psycho. **Bastard.**_

So now, instead of tearing off through the forest with Skinner, Alyn and Luton, he found himself fucking _babysitting_ to make sure that the boy didn’t come to and try to jump out the back, and that Damon didn’t decide to act like a fucking jilted little _girl_ and do something foolish with Ramsay’s prize.

He’d bound Theon’s wrists together with a length of para-cord, and wound an old rope a few times around his ankles for good measure.

“Gimme your jacket,” he’d said to Damon.

“What for?”

“So’s he don’t smash his head open on your truck.” Ramsay held a hand out expectantly.

Damon shucked off his worn denim jacket. “I don’t see why you even _brought_ him,” he said in that lovely Texas twang. “Little rich boy like that – whatchyou think, that he was gonna have a real strong stomach? Just gonna _love_ huntin’ with us?”

Ramsay nearly tore the jacket out of Damon’s arms. “You are playin’ on my last nerve right now.” He vaulted into the bed of the truck to fold the coat beneath Theon’s head.

“Ramsay –”

“I swear to God, if you say one more word to me, I will break every single tooth in your useless, cocksuckin’ mouth.”

Dance shut his trap after that; he of all people ought to know that Ramsay had his reasons. Anyone could see that the boy was pretty, but Ramsay saw something _else_ there – behind those gray-blue eyes, he recognized a fellow pretender. Theon had been practicing that cutting little smirk so long the boy had even managed to fool _himself._ Ramsay knew there was nothing like a night in the woods to strip a person down, to get to the thing underneath – and in Theon’s case, he suspected that the thing underneath was desperate, frightened, lonely, searching for someplace to lay its loyalty.

Damon wielded his whip with a passion, and he had sworn – one night, drunk on whiskey in the bed of his truck – that he _loved_ Ramsay, which had only made Ramsay feel sort of sick and uneasy. The other boys laughed about it behind Damon’s back, and Damon proved too much of a coward to either deny or confirm it. Alyn and Lu shared Ramsay’s enthusiasm for death and gore, but neither possessed any sort of cunning or flair, though in a way, Ramsay envied their total lack of self-awareness. Skinner was dependable enough, but tonight he’d sped ahead, determined not to miss out on the action.

Ramsay’s head pounded. If they hadn’t caught her yet, they must be right on her heels. He’d been looking forward to this hunt all _week,_ especially after the girl had decked him in the face so hard that he lost consciousness for a few seconds and woke up staggering backwards while Skinner rushed in to restrain her. He’d returned the blow – knocked two of her front teeth out, then walked outside for a cigarette while Damon bound her hands and feet and he and Skinner hefted her into the back of the Dodge. He wanted to take his time with the girl, and hated to think of the shit-show Al would make of it, unsupervised.

In the bed of the truck, he saw Theon lift his head, eyes fluttering open before rolling back in their sockets.

“You should’a just done like I said and got on the back of the four-wheeler,” Ramsay shouted at him, though Theon’s body had already gone limp again, which only made him angrier.

The road climbed up, winding gently along a hillside before rounding a bend into an open meadow.

“Fuckin’ _finally._ ” Ramsay banged on the driver-side door of the Dodge as he swerved past it and towards to edge of the clearing where the spotlight from Luton’s Polaris illuminated a thick stand of spruce trees. He saw Skinner, turning to squint into the darkness, and the dogs darting in and out of the shadows.

Ramsay grinned. His chest tightened, palms slick on the grips of the handle-bars. He checked his watch; only a few minutes past eight and the whole night remained. But when he cut the engine, the only sounds that replaced it were dogs barking here and there, an owl somewhere above them, a small stream coursing along one edge of the meadow. Ramsay’s heart sank.

He leapt off the four-wheeler, nearly running to where the boys stood in a half-circle; he kicked at the first dog to approach him, and hardly registered the rocks and ruts in the ground that threatened to trip him at every hurried step.

“– told you so,” Luton shouted, pointing at the ground while Alyn looked down miserably. “I fuckin’ _told you_ to let go, you fuckin’ dumbass!”

“I’m _sorry,_ ” said Alyn, his voice rising at Ramsay’s approach. “I didn’t mean to, and I said I’s fuckin’ _sorry,_ okay?”

She laid on the ground, half-covered in mud, blood still seeping from the wound in her leg and another in her side. Blood covered her hands as well, though judging by the deep gouge on Alyn’s cheek, that much of it wasn’t hers. Her brown eyes gaped open, unseeing and flecked with red where the vessels had burst. Already a pair of dark, red hand-prints had appeared around her thin white neck. Ramsay’s fists clenched so hard that his arms ached.

“Al fuckin’ choked her,” Luton exclaimed, while Skinner rolled his eyes and grumbled, 

“Jesus Christ, it’s pretty fuckin’ obvious.”

“God _damn._ ” Damon gave a whistle and twirled his keys on one finger. “This is why we can’t fuckin’ _go_ anywhere.”

Ramsay turned to Skinner. “Where _were_ you on this?”

“I ain’t his fuckin’ mother,” Skinner said, more amused than angry. “I must’a been about a quarter-mile back, and by the time I get up here, Al’s already on top of her, stranglin’ her, while Lu’s just standin’ over him, yellin’.”

“He fuckin’ choked her ‘fore he even took his dick out, and now ain’t _nobody_ gets a turn!”

Alyn wouldn’t raise his eyes to meet Ramsay’s, but he did give Luton a hard shove. “She’s still _warm!_ ” he spat. “You can still take a turn, if that’s what’s got you so riled up! Bitch fuckin’ _bit_ me, and damn-near clawed my eye out, and you’re still just worried ‘bout getting’ your fuckin’ dick wet!”

“I ain’t no fuckin necrophiliac _pervert!_ ” shot Lu, grabbing Alyn by the collar of his soiled t-shirt. “You got the self-control of a fuckin’ _child,_ and now the night is ruined for the rest of us!”

They looked at Ramsay – Lu’s shoulders heaved, his fingers curled into fists, and he raised one thick eyebrow expectantly. Damon folded his arms across his chest, bored and disgusted, and Alyn continued looking down, head bowed, waiting. Ramsay pulled off his cap to drag his fingers through his hair; he had half a mind to skin the lot of them. The dogs barked eagerly, tails wagging. A loud _thump_ sounded from the back of the truck.

“Hey, Rams – looks like your boy’s awake.”

“Bring him here.” Ramsay’s voice stayed flat, but they all knew the anger in it.

He heard Theon groan, then shout. Skinner pulled the boy from the bed of the truck by the rope around his ankles, and when he hit the ground, all the air left his lungs and Ramsay could hear him wheezing and gasping. He thrashed as Skinner dragged him through the grass, twisting against the P-cord, trying to crawl in the opposite direction. By the time Skinner dropped him in the beam of the headlight, the boy was covered in mud.

“You wrecked my best shirt,” Ramsay observed with a smile. One of the dogs took a sniff at Theon’s face, then licked his cheek, but the boy hardly seemed to notice. His eyes stayed fixed on the body beside him. “Theon – look at me.” Theon turned that same gaze towards Ramsay – wide, terrified, beautiful. Everything else dimmed slightly, and Ramsay imagined that they were alone. Crouching down beside the boy, he could smell sweat and piss, but also cologne and cigarettes – he could feel the heat of Theon’s body as the boy squirmed beneath his touch. The night was so young still, and maybe Alyn had spoiled it for Lu and Skinner and even Damon, but the way the boy trembled filled Ramsay with a sense of promise.

“What are we gonna do with _him?_ ” Alyn cut in.

“We?” Ramsay laid a hand on Theon’s throat, felt the muscles straining there, the hammering of his pulse. “After the shit you just pulled, you really think I’ma let you put your fuckin’ hands on him?” He combed a lock of fine black hair behind Theon’s ear. “Whatchyou think, sweetheart? Should I save the evening and let the boys have their fun with _you_ instead?”

Theon jerked his head from side to side. His eyes shone with tears, though to his credit, none had spilled yet. “No. Please. Please just let me go?”

Luton let out a guttural laugh. “I’d rather fuck the dead girl.”

Ramsay ignored him. “Let you go?” Again, he ran his fingers through the boy’s sweaty hair and watched Theon’s throat clench as he swallowed the urge to pull away. “You’re kind of an optimistic thing, huh?”

“I – I won’t tell anybody. I _promise._ Just take me – take me back to the lodge and I can find my own way home. I can say I got drunk and wandered off, maybe got lost and then passed out. They’d believe me.” He looked at Ramsay earnestly, as though Ramsay knew this to be true. “I can be good. I swear I’ll be good, if you just let me go.” Theon’s shoulders heaved and he began to vomit up what wine remained in his belly.

The boys lapsed into hysterics, but Ramsay found his mouth had gone dry. 

“Lu.” He had to say it again to be heard. “ _Lu!_ ” The laughter died abruptly as Ramsay drew out his hunting knife and pressed the flat of the blade to Theon’s quivering lips. “I need you to promise you’ll be good and not try and fight me or run away, or so fuckin’ help me I will shove this thing up your ass. Understand?”

Theon nodded frantically.

“Promise me.”

“I promise. I promise not to fight or run.”

Ramsay felt his heart give a skip. “Good. Good boy.” He slipped the knife between Theon’s wrists to saw at the cord that bound them. “Lu – grab a shovel and start diggin’ a grave.”

Luton nodded submissively before asking, “Just… one? One grave?”

“You heard me.”

“Ramsay, he _seen_ what we done,” Alyn objected, pointing at the girl. “He knows our _names._ You _gotta_ –”

“Dance, round up the dogs and then put that bullwhip to use. Give Alyn a few licks – however many you feel like.” Alyn’s face paled at the prospect. “Maybe that’ll teach him to use some fuckin’ restraint next time instead of actin’ like a goddamn animal. Skinner – if he fights or tries to run, shoot him.”

Skinner nodded.

“Then I want you and Al to help Lu take care of this fuckin’ body. Dig a deep goddamn grave, and do a good job coverin’ the site, okay?”

“Sure thing.”

Alyn’s voice cracked when he spoke: “Rams, I’m _sorry._ I didn’t mean –”

“You want me to give Dance a _number?_ I can be more specific, if you want.”

Alyn shook his head and stayed quite, while Ramsay moved to cut the rope from Theon’s ankles.

“What about me?” Damon asked. “You want me to help dig, or what?”

“No.” Ramsay wiped the fibers from the knife onto his pant-leg and slipped the blade back into its sheath at the small of his back. “You’re gonna _watch,_ so’s you remember what happens when you get in my fuckin’ way.”

An argument formed on Damon’s lips, and he opened his mouth to object before thinking better of it – he always _was_ quicker to learn than the rest of them. Instead he only answered with a strangled, “Yes sir” and turned away to whistle for the dogs.

Theon propped himself up on his elbows to watch Damon walk off into the darkness. “What is it that you’re going to make him watch?” he asked hoarsely.

Ramsay gave a wicked smile. “Whatchyou think?”

Theon blinked at him and swallowed. “I – is there any way –”

Ramsay’s anger surged. “No, there ain’t no _way._ ” He lashed out to grab a fistful of Theon’s hair and gave a hard pull. “I didn’t _force_ you to come here. _You_ got on the quad with me, and _you_ kissed me, and _you_ decided to start talkin’ back to me. So don’t act like this ain’t your own fuckin’ _fault._ You oughtta be grateful that I’m protectin’ you, after you been nothin’ but a fuckin’ tease and a problem all fuckin’ night.”

Theon winced, and his hand came up to press against Ramsay’s chest, as though he meant to push him away. “I know. I _am._ But I –” A sudden _crack_ pierced the night, followed by an anguished scream. Theon closed his eyes.

“Keep your eyes open.”

Theon obeyed, cringing violently as another scream followed the second stroke of the whip. He stared at Ramsay vacantly, forgetting what he’d wanted to say.

“But you _what?_ ” Ramsay pressed, not knowing why he cared.

“I’m a – I haven’t –” Theon licked his lips. “I’ve never _been_ with anybody before.”

“That’s a nice way to describe what I’m about to do to you.” Ramsay smiled, but he felt dizzy. The sound of the blood pounding in his ears nearly drowned out Alyn’s shrieking, and the Theon’s hand still gripped the front of his shirt; before he could think, Ramsay had covered the boy’s open mouth with his own, biting down hard to get a response, and Theon rewarded him with a gasp and a sharp hiss, even as he tried to pull away.

“This is gonna hurt.” Ramsay grabbed Theon’s wrist and forced his hand down between his legs to feel the hardness there. Theon stared at him, apprehensively. “You can scream, if you want. Or you can bite down on somethin’.”

Skinner pretended not hear as he bent to pick up the girl, sliding one arm under each of hers, and Alyn limped around to grab her ankles, still whimpering, blood already soaked through his t-shirt and his vest. Theon watched them until they were out of sight. “Who – who is she?” he asked.

Ramsay shrugged. “No one. Just some unlucky girl that caught Skinner’s eye – same as you caught mine.”

“But – but you’re not going to kill me?”

“I hope not.” Ramsay smiled at him.

“Where do you want me?” Damon asked, cracking his knuckles and looking at anything except Theon.

“Stand somewhere you can see his face. Make sure he keeps his eyes open.” He laid a light smack across Theon’s jaw. “Hands and knees, sweetheart.”

Theon shook, his hands struggling to find purchase in the slick mud where the meadow had been torn up by the tread of the four-wheelers. Damon scowled and took a step back to keep his boots out of the mess. The boy’s stomach tensed as Ramsay reached around to unbuckle his belt, thighs quivering as Ramsay exposed them to the cool night air. Running his fingers over Theon’s bare hip, he could feel the goosebumps rising on the boy’s skin. He nudged Theon’s knees apart, as far as they would go with his pants and boxers still halfway up his thighs, and began to fumble with his own belt buckle, fingers sweaty with excitement.

“Jesus Christ.”

Ramsay glanced up at Damon, annoyed, but found Damon gazing at Theon’s back, where his shirt had begun to ride up around his waist to reveal a large, dark bruise on the left side of his ribcage. Ramsay slipped his hand up to expose the rest of it – pitch purple and black, twice as wide as Ramsay’s palm. He gave a hard squeeze and Theon moaned, balancing his weight on one hand while the other tugged at the hem of his shirt, trying to cover himself. The sight of it stirred up a mixture of lust and jealousy, and Ramsay leaned over, cock pressing against the cleft of Theon’s ass, to ask him, “Who done this to you?”

“Nobody.” 

Ramsay dealt the boy a blow to the ribs, and Theon collapsed forward onto his elbows, coughing.

“Don’t lie to me, darlin’. Tell me.”

Theon continued gasping for several seconds before he managed, “My – my dad.”

Ramsay spit into his palm, then slicked the saliva along the length of his cock. “And what’d you do to deserve it?”

“I was – I came home late. And I was high.”

“Fathers can be like that.”

Ramsay entered him all at once, and Theon let out a yelp, fingers fisted in the muddy and grass. Ramsay shuddered and then froze, letting the goodness of it wash over him, afraid to be carried away and embarrass himself. When he began to move again, he heard Theon’s choked sobs, made sweeter by the way the boy tried to stifle them.

“More modest than you,” Ramsay commented, sweeping Theon’s hair aside to reveal the nape of his neck. “Tighter, too.”

Damon swallowed drily and shoved his hands into his pockets; Ramsay enjoyed his discomfort and obvious arousal almost as much as he enjoyed the sound of Theon’s short, sharp breaths. The boy struggled to maintain his position, hands slipping out from under him, landing face-down in mud and vomit as Ramsay pounded into him. He grabbed onto one of Damon’s snake-skin boots to steady himself, and Damon kicked his hand away.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, give him somethin’ to hold onto.”

Not that it helped much. The force of Ramsay’s hips pressed him down into the muck, and after a short time, the boy’s elbows buckled and he seemed content to stay down. Ramsay pushed Theon’s shirt up as far as it would go, allowing himself a better view of the bruise on his ribs. Theon twisted away from his touch; the spot was tender, clearly, but more than that, it _embarrassed_ him. Ramsay resolved that before the night was done, he’d leave a mark of his own – and not one that could be hidden so easily.

Theon’s breathing had turned into a low sort of whine, but when Ramsay reached around to feel the boy’s prick, he was disappointed to find it only half-hard. He felt Theon’s stomach tense, and gave a few fruitless strokes before giving up in frustration. He leaned forward and grabbed a fistful of Theon’s hair, yanking his head back to whisper in his ear,

“That’s a pretty pathetic showing for your first time. I oughtta cut it off if it’s that fuckin’ useless.”

He’d obviously meant it as a joke, but Theon began to cry, and though the tears muffled his words, Ramsay heard them clear enough: “I’m sorry. I did want to – I’m sorry.”

Ramsay had intended to pull out, like he always did. But the night was so crystalline, and the flush on Damon’s cheeks was a deep red, and the boy shivered beneath him, his body rigid with pain, stammering out his apologies – that he was sorry, that he’d wanted to, that he thought it would be different – and suddenly Ramsay was coming, biting his tongue to keep quiet, his dirty fingernails digging hard into the smooth skin of Theon’s hips.

“Get him up,” he said finally, after he’d managed to stand and redress himself. Damon yanked Theon roughly to his feet, and Ramsay loved the way the boy’s fingers struggled with his belt. He swatted Theon’s hands aside, and cinched the belt to where it had been – the fifth hole from the end – before feeding the excess leather through the buckle and belt loops.

Theon stared at him.

“If you’re good, you can ride on the quad with me. Otherwise, it’s back in the truck with the dogs. Which is it gonna be?”

As they sped away through the forest, Ramsay felt the boy’s arms wrapped around his waist, even tighter than before.


	3. Chapter 3

The first rays of sun crept over the rooftops to fall in golden stripes across the foot of Theon’s bed, where he’d lain awake for at least two hours. His body ached unbearably, and every time he closed his eyes, he saw the girl – the way her brown eyes hung open, the way her lips were still wet in the corners when Skinner dragged her off into the trees. He stomach gave a lurch, but he’d already retched until his throat hurt, and there was nothing left to bring up. His phone lay beside him on the mattress, full of new messages from Robb still awaiting his response.

_Who are those guys?_

_Hey, did you leave? I’m looking all over for you!_

_We’re going home soon. Text me back or find me!_

_If you went home with someone else, please just tell me so I can stop worrying._

_It’s like 3am. Text me back, you asshole._

_Theon?_

The house had been quiet when Theon returned, the sky to the east showing just the faintest hint of blue. Ramsay had dropped him off in an old black Charger, and Theon had expected him to _say_ something, to remind him what would happen if he ever told a soul about what he’d seen that night, but Ramsay only blew smoke in his face and looked at him with those pale, strange eyes, as if he’d already forgotten everything himself. He leaned across Theon’s lap to open the door, and Theon caught that same scent of cedar and gasoline.

“Go on home, sweetheart.”

Everything looked the same as it had the day before, and yet somehow it all seemed different. Catching sight of his reflection in the hallway mirror, Theon paused to probe at the bruise forming on his jaw where Ramsay had elbowed him, and hissed as it gave a throb in return. And then there was the bite mark – a rising ring of red and pink on his throat, tender to the touch, that filled him with a sense of pride which in turn made him feel sick and ashamed. Still, he thought, perhaps Balon wouldn’t be so furious if he thought his son had been out fighting and getting laid rather than smoking weed and playing video games with Robb Stark.

Ramsay didn’t seemed surprised to find his father still awake in the pre-dawn hours of the morning, sipping tea from a mug and reading the thickest book Theon had ever seen; Roose Bolton barely spared them a glance as Ramsay pulled Theon along by the wrist, saying only, “Be in my bedroom. Knock first.”

Ramsay dragged Theon through his bedroom – a large, but sparsely-furnished mess that smelled stale and smoky – and into the bathroom, where he’d nearly torn Theon’s clothes off and shoved him into the red-marble shower.

“You’re fuckin’ disgusting,” Ramsay said, cranking the water temperature as hot as it would go. “Clean yourself up.”

The shower door was a clear sheet of glass, and through the rising steam, Theon could see Ramsay sitting on the lid of the toilet, rifling through Theon’s clothes, looking for something. 

“What did he see?” asked a soft voice.

Ramsay seemed more irritated than startled when Roose appeared in the door-frame, still cradling his drink in one hand, his reading glasses hanging around his neck from a thin chain. His eyes looked like Ramsay’s, Theon realized, but colder.

“Plenty,” Ramsay replied. “Enough to know what I’ll do to him if he tells anyone.”

Roose asked the question again, this time levelling his icy stare at Theon. “What did you _see?_ ”

Theon moved his hands to cover himself. He watched the dirty water swirl down the drain between his feet, and felt the sting of the hot water on all the cuts and scrapes and scratch marks. “Nothing,” he said. “I spent most of the time in the back of the truck. I – I drank too much. I got sick. I don’t remember…”

Roose studied him without expression. “Ramsay, come speak with me in the other room.”

Ramsay cursed under his breath and trailed his father into the bedroom, where Theon could hear him yelling, followed by a long period of what seemed like silence, before a door slammed and Ramsay stormed back into the bathroom and began stripping out of his clothes.

“You just gonna stand there wastin’ water?” he asked, pulling the shower door open forcefully and stepping inside. “Do I gotta do everything for you?”

He’d been rough, rubbed Theon’s skin raw in places, and didn’t care when the shampoo ran down into Theon’s eyes, but he was hardly any gentler with himself.

Afterwards, when Ramsay pulled the towel off him and pushed him down onto the bed, Theon felt light as a feather.

 _The girl,_ he tried to remind himself. _They killed her. Her body is buried somewhere in the woods. Someone will be wondering where she is._

He hated the way his prick hardened at the sight of Ramsay’s body – at the curve of his cock and the trail of coarse black hair that ran all the way up to his navel. He hated how easily his legs parted for Ramsay’s fingers, and the way his back arched when they finally made their way inside him. But what was he supposed to do – say _no?_

“I’m guessin’ that wasn’t what you thought your first time would be like, huh?”

Theon shook his head. “Not exactly.”

Ramsay paused to consider him. “My first time wasn’t like what I imagined neither. ‘Course, I was a lot younger’n you.” Theon gasped as Ramsay’s other hand closed around his prick. “What was it you was thinkin’ about – back at the lodge, when you was starin’ at me?”

Theon lifted his head to look. “This,” he’d said. “Just – _fuck_ – just you.”

His face burned when he remembered all the things he’d said before it was over, the _sound_ he’d made when he came. He remembered Ramsay’s teeth on his neck.

Theon picked up his phone. He’d imagined writing this text a million times. _Who’s got two thumbs and got laid last night?_ or _Hey bro, have you seen my virginity? Because I seem to have LOST IT!!!_ But looking at the angry, red abrasions around his wrists, all he could think to type was, _Hey. I’m OK. Sorry I’m an asshole and ditched you last night. Was your dad pissed?_

Before he could press SEND, an incoming text appeared on the screen. He didn’t remember giving Ramsay his number, but of course that probably didn’t mean anything. Theon’s heart-beat quickened as he read, 

_Can’t stop thinkin about you. When can I see you again?_

_Just me and you this time._


End file.
